Read to Me, Slowly
by Cats070911
Summary: When Barbara helps Tommy write a speech it starts a slow awakening that their friendship is really love.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** all usual disclaimers apply.

* * *

He had stared at the blank page for almost an hour. His mind was full of meaningless, hollow cliches but Philip Dropher deserved more than shallow platitudes. He had allegedly died nobly, in the service of his country; on a foreign field now stained with English blood. The pimply, gangly boy Tommy Lynley had known at Eton had grown into a respected man, a leader of men, a warrior. The reality Tommy knew was somewhat different. Philip had been a spy and had been captured, brutally raped and tortured before being beheaded. It had been videoed and sent to MI6 but suppressed from the public due to the explicit goriness of the murder.

Now his family had asked Tommy to do a eulogy at the memorial service tomorrow and for once in his life the easy, formal words of his upbringing deserted him. He knew what he was expected to say. It was proper to tell a school anecdote that highlighted the character of the man he was to become, then to summarise how that quality was so admired by all who knew him and was the defining trait of a brave soldier. It was not that any of this was untrue but Tommy felt it was hypocritical to disguise the truth behind the rules of propriety. Surely Philip deserved to be recognised for the truth in his life, not a myth.

The knock on the door of his office saved him agonising further. "Come in," he barked more savagely than he intended.

"Sorry Sir," DS Havers said, "I was just off and thought...what's wrong?"

"Do you ever think you are a complete failure as a human being?"

His sergeant shut the door. She was concerned about her boss. It was barely a year since he had lost his wife in a tragic accident and it had taken him months to even begin to recover. Despite the serious look he had Barbara laughed. It usually helped him see perspective when she took him less seriously than he took himself. "Constantly. Are you writing up my annual appraisal?"

Tommy looked at her and frowned, then understood. "No! No, not you, me. I was referring to how I feel."

She smiled sympathetically. "I know, but you are far from a failure." She moved behind his desk, almost touching him then settled her weight against it. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly. She was tempted to brush the lock of hair that had fallen over his eye back up onto his mop of soft waves.

Tommy shook his head. She was a constant source of strength for him. He doubted he would still be here at work without her having fought for him after the incident with Julia and then whenever he waivered. "Ah, Barbara. I don't suppose you'd accompany me to a memorial service tomorrow?"

"Your friend from Eton?"

Tommy nodded. "Yes. His parents asked me to do the eulogy and well...I don't think I'm up to it."

"Can you politely refuse? They would understand I'm sure."

"Would they? You forget I am bound by the aristocratic stiff upper lip. Pip, pip, tally ho. Once more unto the breach..."

"Stop it Sir," she reproached gently.

"I can't help it. I feel a little...overwhelmed."

He was angry and depressed. She was glad he was not at home or in this mood his bottle of scotch would be draining fast. Her plans for this evening had just changed, not that her laundry held great appeal. She was not going to leave him alone in this mood and she could see the plea in his eyes begging her to help him."I know. Yes, of course I'll come with you tomorrow. We're rostered off but I didn't have plans. What have you written so far?"

Tommy gave her a relieved smile and held up a blank page. "Absolutely nothing."

"Then let's get some food and go to your place, then you can tell me about him."

Three hours later empty containers of Chinese food sat on his coffee table and his speech was typed and printed. Tommy had told her everything from their hijinks at Eton to Philip's death. He even confessed to feeling ill watching the video that a mutual friend in the Service had shown him.

"It's normal Sir. No one should have to see that, especially a friend," she had told him, "now you have to give him the dignity his murderers denied him."

Tommy was grateful for Barbara's help. Talking about Philip and their times together as well as his feelings about life and death had been cathartic. She had not passed judgement or told him to buck up. In fact she had said very little. Barbara had simply sat next to him on his sofa and listened. He wished now he had spoken to her more about Helen's death. He had needed a friend and yet he had ignored the one who always helped him most. "I'm a foolish man at times," he said, slightly out of context to their conversation.

"Yeah, but that just makes you human."

Barbara had called a cab and they were waiting in his hallway. Tommy put his arm around her shoulder and gave a her a heartfelt hug and something between a kiss and a rub of his cheek on the top of her head. He heard the cab toot. "I'll pick you up at ten?"

"That'll be fine Sir. See you then." She slipped out of his grip and with just a quick smile, out of his door leaving Tommy wondering why he suddenly felt terribly isolated and anxious.

* * *

The service went well. Many of Philip's colleagues had been there and Tommy had been sure to avoid any hint that he was aware of Philip's real vocation. He had stuck to the accepted formula in praising his friend and had executed his duty with the gravitas expected of The Eighth Earl of Asherton.

Barbara had watched the reactions of the guests. Most were mesmerised by him. She suspected it was his honey-soaked baritone that affected them as it always did her when she listened to him reading. She imagined he could make anything sound interesting, even the Monday crime statistics report. She had long held a vague fantasy that one day they would be sitting on the floor by a fire with him reading to her and then she would lie down with her head in his lap and just listen to his voice. She sighed. It was inappropriate to fantasise about him in a gothic cathedral during a funeral service. She looked up at him in the pulpit with its carved wooden eagle lectern, worn almost black from the years of oiling and polishing. He was looking straight at her and she blushed as the image of him finishing his story then bending down and gently kissing her refused to go away.

"I'm glad that's over," he said as they left the church after shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with everyone, "thanks again for coming."

"I was happy to."

"Fancy a pint and some late lunch?"

Barbara glanced down awkwardly. She was not used to wearing a dress and felt vaguely ill at ease. She had only worn it out of respect. The dress was the only black outfit she owned. "Nah, thanks anyway."

"Oh." Tommy had assumed the invitation was just a formality and that they would spend the afternoon together. He did not want to be alone but he would not impose on her time. She probably had had plans for her day off.

Havers saw the disappointment on his face. She wanted lunch but felt gauche. "I'm starving but I feel like a fish out of water in this get-up. Maybe if we went home first and I changed?"

"You look beautiful in a dress." His words were out before he could soften them. Barbara blushed and he wondered if he had gone too far. In for a penny... "What if we go to a quiet restaurant I know? Where your dress is more appropriate than in a pub. I meant it, the dress suits you and you shouldn't feel embarrassed."

Barbara's face reddened further as she felt his eyes appraising her. On one level it pleased her but on another it was more frightening than her worst nightmares. "Alright, alright," she said hoping to end the rather awkward conversation, "somewhere small." His wide smile did nothing to quieten her butterflies.

It was not the first time he had noticed she had a lovely face but his own face darkened as he realised he was more than a little attracted to her shapely figure. He should not think of his sergeant that way, should he? It was not professional. She was his friend, the only one who soothed his soul. It was not right to think of kissing her and caressing her. He forced himself to stop thinking about it before a picture of her in his bed settled in his mind's-eye.

They chatted nervously about complete trivia as they drove. Normally if they had nothing important to say they sat in companionable silence but today any silence would give them time to think, and the last thing either of them wanted was time to analyse their feelings.

Tommy parked at his house. "It's a three minute walk," he promised.

Barbara's shoes were tight and uncomfortable but she could manage three minutes toddling in heels twice as high as she normally wore. "That's fine."

His natural instinct was to extend his arm but he fretted that it might appear forward. He had already overstepped the unspoken line that had defined their friendship. He had changed it from Lynley and Havers, colleagues, to Tommy and Barbara, man and woman. What frightened him most was that he did not want to return and he had seen one unguarded glance from Barbara that had suggested she might feel the same.


	2. Chapter 2

Tommy had chosen an Italian restaurant he knew tucked in a quiet corner of Belgravia. It was small and informal, the sort of place Barbara would feel at ease. He knew though that he had selected it mainly for its proximity to his house. That might be handy if things progressed as he hoped they might. This was not some lust-filled dalliance. With only a little bit of thought Tommy knew he had fallen in love with Barbara. In fact he had known it since the Thompson case, he had just elected to ignore it and think himself a sentimental fool.

Barbara suspected as he drove that any restaurant he chose would be close to either of their places. She could feel the vibes coming from him. She was not sure if they were expectant, hopeful or simply the product of six months of abstinence. The rational part of her brain wanted her to run. She should stop this craziness before it began. It might be different if he actually loved her but Tommy could never love her; not the way she loved him. Her hormones however were winning the fight. After ten years of secretly pining for his touch they were determined to at least accept a kiss if it was offered. Any more would need to be assessed at the time her logical side argue. She felt the scorn of her body and knew rational thought would lose.

"In here," Tommy said as he opened the door.

The restaurant was on a corner. Its windows were shaded by red and white checked curtains and the restaurant name was emblazoned in fading gold paint. A handful of small wooden tables and chairs filled the interior. An older, large woman in a white peasant blouse and full black skirt came to greet them with a kiss on both cheeks. "Ah Tommy! It's been too long. Far too long. We were sorry about Helen." The woman smiled kindly at Barbara. "It is good that you bring such a beautiful friend to meet us."

"Maria, this is Barbara, my colleague."

Barbara and Maria exchanged smiles. "Colleague Tommy?"

"Friend," he replied. It had been a mistake bringing Barbara here. He and Helen had spent many nights here when she had returned to him. He hoped Barbara understood he was not performing some sort of ritual.

"It is good you have a friend Tommy, especially one with such a lovely, kind face." Maria turned to Barbara. "It was only after he was married that he brought Helen here. You, he brings before. So tragic but it was meant to be. Maybe better luck this time."

"You have a lovely restaurant," Barbara said effectively changing the subject and allowing Maria to tell the story of how she and Giuseppe had moved from Naples and started their restaurant.

"I'm so sorry," Tommy said genuinely once they were seated and Maria had left for the kitchen. He poured her a generous glass of chianti.

"No need." She took a larger swig than she intended then quickly drained her glass, ignoring his raised eyebrows.

They sat in painful silence for the next few minutes. Maria brought out steaming garlic bread and they each ate a slice without looking at the other. Any thoughts of something physical between them had vanished. "Good food," she muttered to cover the growing awkwardness.

"I should have thought it through. I just thought it was a somewhere you'd feel comfortable. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's nice."

"It wasn't somewhere special to us, it was just handy."

"It's fine Sir, really. Maria just assumed."

"You're my friend Barbara. I wouldn't deliberately hurt you." Their eyes met and she could not help but smile.

"Why did you say colleague and not friend? You did that at the service too." The question shocked her. She was going to have to have a serious word with her subconscious when she got home. It had played up all day.

"Did I?" Tommy paused and considered her question. "Yes, I suppose I did. It was because I thought friend might be misinterpreted as something tawdry. It seems to be a euphemism for many things these days and I did not want you belittled in anyone's eyes."

"Oh. I see. Thanks. I know what you mean."

"Besides," he said with a cheeky grin, "you kept calling me Sir. Friends normally don't do that."

"So to really be your friend I should call you Tommy?"

His smile at hearing his name said so casually by her lit up his face. "Yes, you should. You _are_ my friend, a very special friend and it makes me happy. And friends like to make each other happy."

"That's bribery or coercion or something."

He grinned at her again. "So arrest me."

She enjoyed seeing this relaxed, playful side of him. It had been gone for so long she had wondered if it would ever return. "There's been so many times I've wished I could!"

"Oh me too Barbara! You'd have been in handcuffs so often you'd have..." He stopped realising that handcuffs had other purposes and she might misconstrue his meaning.

Barbara blushed. Until he stopped abruptly she had not thought about being handcuffed to his bed or to him. Now they both knew that was what they were both imagining. They were rescued by Maria's large bowl of pesto pasta.

Tommy tried to communicate only in grunts indicating his appreciativeness for the food. Barbara spoke only in smiles and nods. After they finished the pasta Maria brought out a dish of veal rolled in prosciutto and topped with a creamy tomato sauce sprinkled with pine nuts. Bowls of spinach salad and grilled zucchinis accompanied it. "This is lunch?" Barbara exclaimed.

"Maria has no concept of portion control. We won't need dinner."

Conversation was no longer stilted and they talked about work and the funeral as they ate and finished the chianti. Barbara was about to say how full she was when two bowls of rich tiramisu came from the kitchen. "We won't need breakfast either."

"Good because I would have to go shopping."

Tommy had said it so naturally that Barbara wondered if he meant that he had nothing for him to eat or for them to eat. She realised she had been as ambiguous. They were skating on a thin sheet of ice that was unfamiliar to them despite their years of banter; a sheet that threatened to crack at any moment.

"Oh, this is divine."

She tasted the dessert and agreed. "We should come here again."

"Indeed."

As they left the restaurant Barbara's feet began to throb against her tight shoes. She stooped and took them off and carried them in her hand as if walking barefoot in London on an autumn afternoon was what everyone did.

"Are your feet sore?"

"No I just thought my stockings needed to be rubbed and pulled by the concrete. Yes, my feet are sore. I will soak them when I get home. I'm not used to heels."

Tommy glanced down in amusement. Her heels were only marginally higher than his dress shoes. In comparison to her joggers though he imagined they felt like stilts. "I have some cream that might help," he said as they approached his house.

Barbara was not sure how he was going to approach inviting her in but this was a new line. She had assumed a nightcap - albeit a late afternoon-cap - might have been his choice. "Does it work?"

"Yes, it's hot and soothing if you rub it in well."

She could not help but smile and pondered if his words had been deliberate. "Okay."

Tommy poured drinks for them then left to fetch the cream from his bathroom. Barbara removed her stockings and shoved them into her bag. A devilish idea to remove her undies and put them in his cutlery drawer occurred to her but she dismissed it quickly. "Behave," she told her subconscious.

"I wasn't aware I was misbehaving." _Yet..._

Her face flushed red then purple before fading to white. "I was talking to myself...to my feet...yes, I was talking to my feet telling them to stop hurting."

He waved a tube of cream in the air. "I have the solution. Would you like me to rub it in for you?" Now Tommy blushed. He had not meant to verbalise his thoughts. He sounded like a lecher. "I'm sorry, that didn't sound right." He put the tube on the coffee table. "Another drink?"

"Yes please." Barbara was wishing it was the first question she was able to answer.

She accepted the drink then sat on the sofa, demurely crossing her legs as she had once been taught. _How the hell do I rub this into my feet without the dress riding up?_

"I should light a fire," Tommy said, "the nights close in quickly these days."

She sat watching him remove his coat and tie then arrange the wood. She could not help but think back to her fantasy. One wall behind him had shelves of neatly bound leather books. She imagined him reading a romantic poem that she would not understand.

When he finished with the fire he turned around and frowned. "You haven't rubbed the cream in."

"I can't reach my feet in this dress."

Tommy smiled so hard his face began to ache. "Would you let me do it?"

Barbara felt the colour rise up her neck and across her face. "You don't want to touch my smelly feet."

They were probably the most unromantic words she could have said but Tommy did not worry. He did want to touch her feet and a lot more of her. "I have soap," he said to brook any further objections. He sat on the floor and squeezed a generous glob of cream onto his palm.

She closed her eyes and surrendered to his touch.


	3. Chapter 3

Tommy spread the cream over his trembling hands then took her foot and gently began to rub it in. He leisurely stretched his palms over the top and bottom in long, slow strokes before he used his thumbs to massage her sole. He watched her face for clues of pain or discomfort but she looked tranquil sitting with her eyes closed and just the hint of a smile. He gently circled her heels allowing his hands to extend up to her mid-calves. Her skin was much smoother than he had imagined, like fine silk. He imagined peeling off her dress and discovering the textures and contours of her body. He explored her toes with his fingers. She giggled in ticklish delight as he slid his index finger between them. With the lotion well absorbed he repeated the treatment on the other foot.

While his patient looked peaceful he was decidedly agitated. With any other woman he would slowly climb up the couch and kiss her and they would probably end up in his bed. With Barbara he had to know first that she wanted him to act. Maybe he was mistaking the relaxed comfort of friendship for a deeper intimacy. For years they had been close friends and to change that in a day seemed to be rushing everything. He needed to slow down and let things take a natural course. "I'll just wash my hands."

Barbara had no experience of foot rubs but it had seemed far more sensual than simply applying cream to sore feet. His gentle hands had sent magical shivers through her as they caressed her ankles. He had tickled when he played with her toes but both sensations had the same effect, she wanted more. She wanted to feel his hands on her body. She wanted to have his lips dance across her skin. She wanted to feel his skin against hers as they made love. With her eyes still closed against reality she sighed contentedly.

The few minutes away from her let his mind, and his body, calm. After scrubbing his hands to almost surgical standard he took five deep breaths and returned to the room. "So, it's only early," he said lightly, "the news will be on in five minutes, or we can watch something else or listen to music. What would you like?"

Barbara glanced up at the books. "Would you read to me?"

"Read to you?" It was the last thing Tommy had expected. He chuckled. "What bedtime story would you like?"

"Poetry perhaps. Something you like."

The request seemed simple but Tommy faced a dilemma. His choice of poem would send a signal and he needed to send the right one; something that spoke of love without gushing. "Hmm," he said walking over to his bookcase, "I have varied tastes."

"Pick one I'd like. Something you can read to me, slowly."

Tommy swallowed hard. Barbara had said that seductively. He doubted she had intended to sound so alluring but it had affected him deeply. He glanced back and smiled. She had moved onto the floor and was watching him expectantly. He tried to focus. As his eyes roved his shelves they fell on Pushkin. Did he dare? He selected the volume and found the poem. He walked back to the sofa and slid down to sit beside Barbara. "This is one by Alexander Pushkin. Do you know much about him?" Barbara shook her head. "He was a Russian writer of novels, plays and poems. I believe they are more beautiful in Russian but I've always liked this one."

"What's it called?"

"The Wondrous Moment of Our Meeting*. It was written in 1825 and I think you'll like it."

Tommy began to read. "The wondrous moment of our meeting, I still remember you appear, Before me like a vision fleeting, A beauty's angel pure and clear."

Barbara closed her eyes and listened to the rich timbre of his voice. She remembered seeing him at Deborah's wedding, sitting on the step talking so earnestly to Helen about his feelings at being best man as his friend married he woman he loved. She thought about the way he looked. He had been handsome in his morning suit but with such endearingly vulnerable and mournful eyes. She had tried to hate him and everything he stood for but how could she ever dislike the man who was now sitting reading to her?

Tommy too was thinking about their first case but his thoughts were of their argument in the barn, the moment he had seen that her fierceness was a ruse and that she had a pure, angelic heart. Something had touched him then. Something that had bonded them together. He had not fallen in love with her but he had certainly begun to love her as a friend, a kindred soul. "In hopeless ennui surrounding, The worldly bustle, to my ear, For long your tender voice kept sounding, For long in dreams came features dear."

That was exactly her experience. Despite all the maelstrom of work, her mother and the world in general he had been her rock. She could depend on him to help her and in her lonely nights the memory of his voice, his smile, the stupid lock of hair that tumbled over his eyes, sustained her. She wimpered softly.

Tommy heard her moan and stretched his arm around her shoulders. They had shared so much and in his despair it was always her he turned to for reassurance and rescue. He quickly kissed the top of her head. "Time passed. Unruly storms confounded, Old dreams, and I from year to year, Forgot how tender you had sounded, Your heavenly features once so dear."

"Mmm, that's beautiful Tommy. So sad that he forgot his love." His tender voice, her dreams about him. She knew lost love; unrequited love. Barbara wondered if this poem reminded Tommy of Helen. That spectre was always between them. Barbara did not expect Tommy to ever forget Helen but she had hoped maybe she would fade enough for him to love again. He deserved to feel love and have someone who could love him with an intensity she had always doubted Helen shared.

Tommy's mind was back in her flat, that night when he confessed his fears and doubts about his estranged wife. He never knew why he took Helen back. In one fleeting moment in that flat he and Barbara had confessed their souls. He remembered her eyes. They loved each other beyond words. Now he let out a little strangled cry. He had wasted years searching for a love that was with him all the time. He wanted to kiss Barbara desparately but he had to finish the poem. Pushkin could say it far more eloquently than he ever could.

With a quivering voice he continued. "My backwoods days dragged slow and quiet, Dull fence around, dark vault above, Devoid of God and uninspired, Devoid of tears, of fire, of love." This summed up Tommy's life. He had been devoid of love. Deborah and Helen had been his friends and he had mistaken it for the love he craved. He shifted uncomfortably and hoped he was not about to make the same mistake. This did not feel like a mistake. The thought of being loved by Barbara filled him with a strange ecstasy. It felt spiritual, as if his whole life was focussed on this moment.

Barbara shifted her weight and lay down next to him. He frowned but kept his hand on her shoulder. "Sleep from my soul began retreating," he said hesitantly, "And here you once again appear, Before me like a vision fleeting, A beauty's angel pure and clear."

She lifted her head onto his lap with a contented sigh but did not look up at him. He needed to know she wanted this, wanted him. He had selected this poem for her. She was certain of that. She did not believe for him it was true love, whatever that was, but she was tired of loving him from afar. Maybe it was just something they needed to get out of their systems but if he had chosen the poem to tell her his feelings extended beyond friendship then he needed to know she understood. She remembered his eyes that night in her flat. It was the closest anyone had ever come to saying they loved her. She feared opening her eyes and not seeing that look. She clamped them shut and prayed they looked at her that way now.

Tommy's heart thumped in his chest. She had surprised him by laying her head on his lap and the last of his doubts dissolved. His whole body sang with happiness and desire. He wanted to love her in every possible way but more than anything to feel that total merging of mind and spirit that he had never quite found. He was trying to tell her that he truly loved her. "In ecstasy the heart is beating, Old joys for it anew revive; Inspired and God-filled, it is greeting, The fire, and tears, and love alive." Tommy bent down and kissed her.

The touch of his lips was at first soft and tender but the electricity between them made her hair stand on end. She pushed into him and the crush of his mouth became urgent and needy. "Oh Tommy!"

"Barbara!" He kissed her again, wholeheartedly and impatiently then stopped and pulled away.

Barbara sat up beside him. "What?"

"I need you to know that I love you Barbara; with all my heart and soul. I have for a long time and should have told you years ago when I had the chance."

She smiled and lovingly pushed his hair back from his face. "I know and you did once. I love you too Tommy...always have I suppose...more than life itself."

He grinned and wrapped his arms around her. "I was hoping you'd say something like that." The time for discussion was over, now he would let his body worship her as she deserved.

* * *

* The Wondrous Moment of Our Meeting by Alexander Pushkin, written in 1825.


End file.
